


As Long as the World Keeps Spinning

by jinlin5



Series: Husbands and Shit [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Choking, Comfort, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, EMT Ian Gallagher, Excessive Swearing, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Masturbation, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, PWP, Post-Season/Series 10, Riding, Slice of Life, Smut, Top Ian Gallagher, porn with only the slightest hint of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: Mickey shifts his weight and turns to look at him and that’s when Ian can see it written all over his face, adding extra weight to the bags under his eyes.It’s a look that’s crystal clear.It’s a look that says, I’ve had a long ass day, full of entitled douchbags and people who just don’t fuckin get me.Lately, Mickey’s had that look on his face a lot after work. It had to have something to do with slogging it out at a court mandated nine to five where your literal job description is to be the felon who chases down and roughs up the assholes no one else wants to deal with. Ian is as sympathetic as he can be, and he tries not to remind Mickey that at least he almost never gets pissed or puked on.“Hey,” Mickey lifts his beer in salute and takes a sip and Ian can practically feel the need radiating off of him, even though Mickey’s fighting to keep balanced.“Put that shit down. Now.” Ian orders as he kicks his work boots off and stalks around the couch he’s well aware of what his husband needs, and even after his own gruelling work shift, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it to him.___________A smutty slice of life. Ian and Mickey blow off some steam in their new apartment.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Husbands and Shit [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814
Comments: 19
Kudos: 270





	As Long as the World Keeps Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi my lovelies, I’m back with a smutty little one-shot, with only the barest hint of a plot! I put all of my favorite things in this one, and had a lot of fun writing the dialogue, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to my best friend and beta Iqra (@camnoelgallavich) for taking time out of her stressful study schedule to edit this! Love you my dear!

Ian can tell that Mickey needs him. 

Ian’s secret party trick is knowing when Mickey’s got that look on his face, and from the moment he lays eyes on him, from the moment he steps across the threshold into their nearly microscopic apartment, letting the screen door creak shut behind him- Ian can sense it. 

He sets his duffle down on the floor and isn’t surprised to see his husband slumped on their threadbare couch, both feet up on the box of assorted junk they’ve been using as a coffee table since they hauled their shit into this new place less than a week ago. It’s a walk up with two flights of hazardous wooden steps leading from the meager patch of under watered grass that serves as their front yard, right up to their front door. They’ve got neighbours in the unit below them who they haven’t run into yet- not that either of them was making much of an effort. It’s what most would consider a shithole, but both of them like it just fine. Much better than a group home. Much better than a prison cell. A place where they can both exist without breathing down each other's necks, unless they want to. 

Mickey’s got a tallboy gripped tight in one hand, and he appears not to notice the sweat from the can dripping in rivulets, making a ring of dark fabric where he has it resting on his thigh. Their third-hand tv is on, and he has it propped up on two more boxes labeled bedroom, which still haven’t made their way into the proper room. Mickey’s clearly not paying attention to the damn thing, because the Netflix home screen is up and playing the trailer for some sort of documentary about birds or some shit. It’s obviously just background noise. 

“Mick?” Ian intones as he pops the top buttons of his work uniform; he had finally broken down and worn the long sleeve version that morning because September is almost over and the autumn breeze has started to chill him to the bone during his morning runs. 

Mickey shifts his weight and turns to look at him and that’s when Ian can see it written all over his face, adding extra weight to the bags under his eyes. 

It’s a look that’s crystal clear. 

It’s a look that says,  _ I’ve had a long ass day, full of entitled douchbags and people who just don’t fuckin  _ **_get_ ** _ me.  _

Lately, Mickey’s had that look on his face a lot after work. It had to have something to do with slogging it out at a court mandated nine to five where your literal job description is to be the felon who chases down and roughs up the assholes no one else wants to deal with. Ian is as sympathetic as he can be, and he tries not to remind Mickey that at least he almost never gets pissed or puked on. 

“Hey,” Mickey lifts his beer in salute and takes a sip and Ian can practically feel the  _ need _ radiating off of him, even though Mickey’s fighting to keep balanced. 

“Put that shit down. Now.” Ian orders as he kicks his work boots off and stalks around the couch he’s well aware of what his husband needs, and even after his own gruelling work shift, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it to him.

The exhaustion in Mickey’s eyes fades like a mist, replaced by a mischievous glint, with a smirk to match.

“Damn, a’right,” Mickey tilts his head back and lets the few remaining mouthfuls of beer trickle out of the can and down his throat. He crushes the flimsy aluminum can in his fist with practiced ease and makes a great show of tossing it into one of the empty boxes they’ve actually succeeded in unpacking. The can makes it in, but just barely, 

That’s how Ian finds himself, sunk into the patchwork couch cushions, his work shirt tossed to the floor, his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, pushed down just low enough for Mickey to pull his cock out. 

Mickey’s got one hand curled around the back of Ian’s neck and the other working over his now exposed shaft. Ian can see out of the corner of his eye, the faded ink-  **F U C K** \- lazily clenching and unclenching, working him slowly but surely to full hardness. 

“Been thinkin’ bout this cock all damn day, man…” Mickey growls deeply in the gap between hungry kisses, and Ian blows out a shaky breath as his husband grips his dick at the base and shakes it once, as if Ian didn’t know which cock he was referring to. 

Ian runs a clammy palm down the smooth plane of his husband's side- somehow, without Ian noticing, Mickey had ditched his shirt and was slowly squirming out of his jeans. Ian lets the pads of his fingers seek down below the frayed band of Mickey’s boxer briefs until they meet the swell of his ass cheek. He squeezes the hot flesh, and Mickey responds by sucking a few kisses onto the underside of his jaw. Mickey pumps his fist three times in succession, causing Ian to bite the inside of his cheek and let out a pleasured grunt. 

“You shoulda- mmf- let me shower first,” Ian steadies his breathing long enough to puff out the thought while Mickey unabashedly continues his ministrations, thumbing at the rosy head of Ian’s cock, smearing precum like fingerpaint. “ _ Fuuuuuckkkk _ … must smell like hot garbage after all d-“ 

Mickey shuts him up when he tugs Ian’s bottom lip between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to make it sting the way he knows his husband fucking loves. 

“Fuck off, need you now,” Mickey grunts once he’s finished holding Ian’s lip hostage, their mouths so close together than Ian swears he can taste the damn words. Maybe it’s just the beer. “Love how you smell, dipshit. The shower can fuckin’ wait.”

Ian’s grinning like an imbecile against Mickey’s cheek, because he knows that Mickey likes most things about him; but it’s still nice to hear it out loud. He digs his fingers into the meat of Mickey’s ass one more time, before those same digits migrate around to his crotch. Ian paws at the bulge that’s jutting out of Mickey’s half unzipped jeans and he feels the fist closed around his cock pause abruptly as Mickey whimpers- goddamn  _ whimpers-  _ something indiscernible yet undeniably encouraging. 

Ian takes it and runs. “Well someone’s extra needy today…  _ ah _ !”

Mickey, like fuckin’ usual, gives him no warning before bowing his head and filling his mouth with as much of Ian’s rigid cock as possible. He doesn’t stay down there for very long, and before Ian can even process the warm, wet, pleasure of the inside of Mickey's mouth, he pulls off and recaptures Ian’s lips, licking into the space, marking his territory. Ian savours the tangy flavour of the alcohol, and the  _ Mickey _ of it all. 

“Off,” Ian detaches his mouth briefly, bumping his nose against Mickey’s, and curls both pointer fingers into the belt loops of Mickey’s jeans, sliding them down with enough force to yank his boxer-briefs down with them. 

“Y-yeah…” Mickey nods, canting his hips upward to help with the task, and Ian chuckles approvingly when the fabric gives way, allowing Mickey’s leaking hard-on to pop into view. He doesn’t stop until the jeans are pooled at Mickey’s ankles. Mickey takes over, frantically kicking them off and away, leaving Ian to bask in the glory of his husband- naked, horny as fuck, and ready for action. 

“Remind me again why the fuck we didn’t get our own place sooner?” Ian bites along the stubble on Mickey’s jawline. 

“Uhhh- cuz we’re fuckin’ poor? Keep up, man.” Mickey snorts and twists himself with the help of Ian’s strong arms, throwing a leg over Ian’s thighs and dropping down onto his slouched frame, halfway on his belly so that Ian’s hardness slots itself snuggly between Mickey’s asscheeks. 

“Right, right- slipped my mind…” Ian leans up to give attention to whatever part of Mickey he can capture- his collar bone as it happens. Mickey’s fingers worm their way further through his copper hair like they’re searching for something with each nip and kiss of Ian’s mouth. Ian’s hands are busy too, trailing firmly over the soft hair on Mickey’s muscular thighs until his fingertips meet around the back, cupping Mickey’s ass for another round of kneading. 

Mickey whines again, mindlessly, like he doesn’t give a flying fuck about whether or not it jeopardizes his ‘manhood’. He pushes,  _ back, back, back, _ helping Ian to spread him open so that Ian’s thick cock rubs against Mickey’s hole. And all Ian can do is think that if God is even half as merciful and good as everyone says he is, this is exactly what heaven would feel like.

It takes him a moment to register the unmistakable slickness against his shaft and Mickey notices the second it dawns on him, providing Ian with a grin that could only be described as  _ impish _ . 

“Fuck Mick, you get yourself ready for me?” Ian moans, feeling his cock throb in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat. He rewards this perceived effort, by removing one hand from Mickey’s ass and taking his cock in hand, showing no mercy with a few tight strokes, causing Mickey’s mouth to silently drop open. 

“Not so much- mmm- for you, more for me,” Mickey’s face is flush now, and the sweat collecting on his skin is reflecting the beam of light that’s being projected into the living room from from the slit in the curtains- curtains they picked up at Goodwill and had put up only yesterday. 

“Might’ve spent the last few hours getting off before you got home… might’ve made myself cum really fuckin hard thinkin’ about  _ this _ .” Mickey pushes up on his knees and inches back, hovering himself over Ian’s cock, and Ian can’t tell if the moan that falls from his lips is due to the wet heat of Mickey’s hole pressing down on him, or the filthy things that Mickey just admitted to. Both. Definitely both. 

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” Ian gives Mickey’s cock a few more slow pumps and then let’s go, grasping onto the sides of Mickey’s waist, just above the hip bones. He adds the slightest amount of weight down onto Mickey’s body, so that Mickey’s having a hell of a time resisting the urge to let go and slide himself into Ian’s cock. 

Mickey, inexplicably, resists despite how much he wants to feel the burning stretch, and the fullness that always manages to make him feel whole and unbroken. “Probably coulda,” Mickey shrugs and when Ian’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, he kisses the spot where they meet with a small snicker, 

“I knew you’d be fuckin’ exhausted and I’d be running’ laps around your ass.Thought you might not exactly be in the mood to _ \- ah! Shit! _ ” Mickey’s broken gasp tapers from the end of his sentence as Ian suddenly adds a considerable amount of force to his hips, shunting Mickey down so that the first few inches of Ian’s hard-on slips into his prepped hole. Mickey’s own cock spasms as his muscles contract around Ian and embrace the intrusion, eyes and mouth both wrenched wide open with the unexpected rush of adrenaline. 

“That feel like I’m not in the mood Mick?” Ian rasps and bites at Mickey’s throat, pinching the taunt skin between his teeth and soothing his silky tongue over each red mark he leaves behind. Ian’s hands have travelled up from Mickey’s hips and both of his thumbs have located Mickey’s nipples, hardened from contact with the air and arousal. He brushes over them and feels the vibrations of a groan deep in Mickey’s throat, as he keeps on biting and licking and sucking. 

“C’mon. Ride my cock and tell me all the filthy shit you did to yourself before I got here…” Ian rolls his hips upward a little, pushing more of himself into Mickey. Mickey’s eyes squeeze shut and his head drops towards Ian’s, accidentally knocking their foreheads together. Neither one minds, too far gone on what is happening at the other end of them too worry about possible concussions. 

With his forehead still pressed into Ian’s, Mickey plants both palms onto the back of the couch on either side of Ian’s head and lowers himself. He takes the remaining inches of Ian’s shaft inside of him, until his ass and Ian’s thighs are pressed together like edges of matching puzzle pieces- perfectly aligned.

“You’re one dirty motherfucker,” Mickey remains still for an agonizing second so he can get his words out without choking, before pushing himself up and sinking back down, setting a slow but purposeful rhythm. 

“Shut up, you’re…literally bouncing on my dick right now,” Ian has to pause and pant because the sensation and the angel and the  _ tightness _ are so very overwhelming. He spreads his legs out wider beneath his husband and curls his torso towards Mickey’s chest, replacing the thumb teasing Mickey’s left nipple with his tongue, and shifting his free hand back down to Mickey’s asscheek, gripping the flesh so hard his knuckles begin to whiten. “Mmm tell me what you did… I know you’re fuckin’  _ dying _ to…” 

“Oh  _ fuck _ yesss,” Mickey hisses, slamming down with increasing speed, the feeling of fullness warming up his insides like sparking flint. Ian’s tongue feels fucking  _ magical _ , flicking and sucking his peaking nipple, and Mickey’s ability to resist Ian’s request is rapidly evaporating. 

“Was so fuckin’ hard when I got home. Had to keep my coat over my lap the whole ride on the L so one of those pervy bastards wouldn’t notice me tryin’ not to pop a woody…” Mickey rambles and continues rocking, firmly cupping the back of Ian’s head to encourage him to keep up his licking. 

Ian’s murmurs are muffled by Mickey’s chest, but the way he bucks up into Mickey’s ass makes it abundantly clear that he wants his husband to keep talking. 

“Went right to the bedroom and-  _ unf y-yeah _ \- laid down. Took my cock out… only jerked it for like two minutes before I jizzed all over myself…” 

Ian moans deeply around Mickey’s nipple and then tugs his head away, leaning his back into the couch. His mind is hard at work, fabricating images of Mickey stroking himself into a frenzy, tangled in the messy sheets they’ve thrown over the mattress in the corner of the room - since neither one of them has had the time or the energy to properly build the bed frame that’s still sitting unassembled in the closet. 

Ian bucks his hips up more sharply this time, accidently destroying the pace Mickey’s working so hard to set. They both bubble over with laughter that fades into soft mewls of pleasure when they regain control over the rhythm, and Ian’s cock hits Mickey’s prostate dead on like a fucking homing device. 

“ _ More _ , please,” Ian hums, eyes fixating on the wet head of Mickey’s cock bobbing up and down between them, “Tell me more.” 

Mickey’s head is tilted towards the ceiling now, and he cycles through biting down on his bottom lip and sucking air into his open mouth over and over again. Ian can tell he’s trying to focus his thoughts, trying to string together something dirty as his sweet spot is targeted with each and every one of Ian’s upward thrusts. When Mickey drops his head back down and meets Ian’s gaze, there’s determination in the arch of his brows and the way his hands slide down to clench over Ian’s pecs. 

“You wanna hear about me fucking myself, hmm?” Mickey rams his ass down and wriggles against Ian, and the unyielding pressure has them both gasping and trying to uncross their eyes. “Good and hard, with that huge fuckin dildo you bought me?” 

Ian smacks his hand sharply against Mickey’s ass, and succeeds in forcing him to keep moving, rocking down at the same pace as before. If Mickey stayed still, Ian’s sure it would have been all over for him, and he wants to hold out at least until the end of the story. 

“The glass one?” Ian asks breathlessly, even though he knows, even though he’s fully aware that it’s been Mickey’s toy-of-choice since Ian had brought it home and snuck it under Mickey’s pillow for him to find a few weeks ago. 

Mickey moans gutturally- his loudest yet. “Fuck yeah the-  _ mmmhf- _ glass one. Had to use half a bottle of lube to fit that bitch in- so goddamn big…” Mickey’s movement’s are becoming violent and reckless each time he impales himself down on Ian’s cock. And although it feels downright incredible, Ian can just tell Mickey’s losing himself in it - losing steam, losing the rhythm. His thighs are quivering and his arms are shaking, and Ian can feel him tightening like a vice. 

Without so much as a warning, Ian growls and hooks his hands up under Mickey’s arms, ignoring the burn of his core muscles as he lifts them both forward. He’s still deeply embedded inside of Mickey as both of their bodies heave off of the couch for just long enough to swing around and plow back into the cushions. Ian watches Mickey’s eyes spring open when his back slams into the couch cushions, his pupils dilating like he just shot a bag of smack.

“ _ God _ , Ian!” Mickey wails, when Ian bares down with two massive hands on the backs of Mickey’s thighs, driving them into his chest, bending him like a goddamn pretzel. Ian picks up where they left off, pounding down into him with unbridled ferocity, high on the newfound control the position affords him. 

Mickey’s cock looks so red and swollen and ready to be touched, but neither of them can bear to pay attention to it. They’re both too wrapped up in the friction of  _ fucking _ and being  _ fucked _ . They’re too close to losing it. 

Ian’s eyes are locked on to Mickey’s and he only spares a glance down when he senses Mickey’s hand slipping down from where it was weaved through his hair. He breathes hard and thrusts forward, and watches  **U-UP** as it snakes down between Mickey’s spread thighs and past his cock. He reaches to the side and grasps Ian’s left hand which is splayed out across the pale landscape of Mickey’s thigh. Ian let’s Mickey guide his arm up, skimming his fingertips over the soft pouch of his scrunched up tummy and his blushing pecs as they ascend. 

Ian knows what Mickey wants. What he  _ needs _ . Mickey drops his hand when his palm makes contact with Mickey’s throat, and a shiver runs like a bandit up Ian’s spine at how unbelievably fucking  _ erotic _ Mickey is when he gets like this. When he makes known what he wants. What he  _ needs _ . When he demands it from Ian. 

“Okay, Mick. O-okay…” Ian croons and he physically can’t slow himself down now, he’s too close to cumming. And his hand at Mickey’s throat, applying a gentle pressure at first, isn’t helping matters any - for  _ either _ of them. Ian drives himself into Mickey’s hole, pressing him down until Mickey can literally feel the rusty old springs threatening to burst through the couch cushion, but the cock pounding his prostate like a hammer makes it hard to give a flying fuck. 

“Fuckin’ hard! Harder!” Mickey grunts and Ian knows he’s not talking about being fucked, but the hand at his throat. Ian’s balls tighten up along with his fingers, and the feeling of Mickey struggling to swallow, his Adam’s Apple bobbing beneath Ian’s palm is so fucking salacious, Ian thinks - no, he’s  _ certain  _ he’s going to cum soon. 

“M’ close,” Ian’s voice is a low rumble under Mickey’s garbled groans, “M’ close, Mick… are you-“ 

“Yeah!” Mickey keens, and his fingers threaten to tear rents in the skin of Ian’s freckled back. “Don’t stop, just don’t fuckin’ stop, I’m- ahh,  _ fuck _ !“ A hoarse cry bursts from Mickey’s mouth. Ian has just enough presence of mind to not slow down or let up on Mickey’s throat as he watches his husband’s cock twitch and erupt, untouched. Milky stripes of cum paint his belly and chest with each spasm - a true work of art - and Ian grips his throat and rocks into him hard and deep through it all as he shudders and moans through his own orgasm.

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Ian gasps and relents once the tremors recede, removing his shaky hand from around Mickey’s neck gingerly and doubling over to kiss away the droplets of sweat rolling down Mickey’s temples from his hairline. When he pulls back, Mickey’s panting and smiling, jutting his chin upward as Ian plants his lips all over his upturned face. 

“That was fuckin’ incredible,” Ian whispers against Mickey’s cheek. 

“Hell yeah it was.” Mickey croaks, still fighting to catch his breath, and as far as Ian can tell, the look of  _ need _ has all but evaporated, replaced by something that’s as close to  _ satisfied _ as Mickey’s ever likely to get. Ian can’t stop himself from staring, studying Mickey’s pleased expression, trying to memorize it and figure out just how to reconstruct it on the days when he can’t remember the recipe. 

Eventually Mickey’s hands are shoving at his chest and he’s apparently filled his lungs with enough air to be his usual smart-ass self. 

“Listen Romeo, as much as I love gettin’ boned like this, I’d rather not spend the rest of my life with a dick up my ass and my legs above my goddamn head like some sorta fucked up Romanian gymnast.”

“You do if it’s my dick,” Ian retorts and pecks at Mickey’s nose, which earns him a displeased grunt from the man beneath him. 

“Ha-ha. Yeah, no.” Ian receives a facefull of Mickey’s hand, playfully pushing him back. “Pull out, asshole. My fuckin’ hamstrings are  _ on fire _ .”

“Fine, if you insist,” Ian rolls his eyes and exaggerates each of his movements comically, disconnecting their bodies and flopping his ass onto the couch directly next to Mickey, just as Mickey lowers his legs back onto the box that had been functioning as his foot rest. “Better?” Ian inquires with a smirk, reaching over to massage Mickey’s thigh.

“Let’s see, I’m covered in jizz and just got my rocks off for the third time today,” Mickey swipes a finger through the rapidly drying sticky streaks scattered over his abdomen, and cocks his head towards his husband, sporting a Cheshire Cat-like grin. “I’d say I’m doin’ just fuckin’ fine.”

Ian laughs, and it’s light and breathy, full of fondness. “I love you, you know that?” He leans in to knock his shoulder against Mickey’s.”Like, a whole fuckin’ lot, right?”

And they’re both rhetorical questions, but Mickey pulls up from his slouched position and answers them anyway. “Of course I do,” He nods appreciatively, then adds, “And while we’re bein’ all sappy, I love you too, you goofy bitch…” 

Mickey brings his hand to rest over Ian’s, stilling the movement on his thigh, and Ian catches a glimpse of the ring, glinting on his finger, catching the now nearly non-existent light of dusk pushing its way through the gap in the good-will curtains. The ring that means fucking  _ forever _ , if they play their cards right. 

Ian closes his eyes for a split second to bask in the  _ forever-ness _ . The constancy. The trust. The assurance that they’ll try and meet each other halfway- give each other what they both  _ need _ \- as long as the world keeps spinning. 

“You passin’ out on me over there?” Mickey asks accusingly, squeezing all the bones in Ian’s hand together until he yelps and sits forward, eyes shooting open from the sudden pain. 

“No! No, I was just tryna decide what I wanna do tonight before I have to get back in the rig at midnight and wait for some drunk asshole to light himself on fire or some other stupid shit,” Ian explains, and even though he’s making it up on the spot, he’s not lying, because he really does have to go back to work in nearly 5 hours for the EMT graveyard shift.

“Oh shit man, what the hell is wrong with you?” Mickey scratches at his stomach, avoiding the patches of cum the best he can. “I totally forgot about that. You didn’t have to throw it in me as soon as you stepped in the fuckin’ door, we coulda-“ 

“Mick, it’s alright,” Ian interrupts his spiral, and Mickey settles back down like a defused bomb, “You needed it. I needed it.” 

And Mickey can’t very well argue with him. 

“Okay well, what’s the plan then?” Mickey shrugs. “Cuz you gotta sleep at some point. Fucks with your meds if you don’t get enough z’s.” 

Ian resists the urge to sigh exasperatedly at Mickey’s unintentional doting. Instead, he turns to face him and begins to rattle off his plan of attack. 

“First, I’m thinkin’ we take a quick shower and take care of,” Ian screws up his face and gestures to Mickey’s chest and stomach, “this mess. Then you can join me for a nap if you wanna. Then we order an ex-large stuffed crust meat lovers with  _ extra _ habaneros, and dig the PlayStation out from the box beneath your feet so I can kick your bitch-ass at Street Fighter until I have to leave.” Ian slouches sideways and drops a kiss onto Mickey’s bare shoulder before pushing himself back upright. “Good plan?” He asks. 

“Great plan,” Mickey looks as smitten as Ian feels, and he leaps off of the lumpy couch like a fire spontaneously ignited under his ass. “Let’s get movin’. And no messin’ around in the shower,” He points an accusatory finger in Ian’s face, “I mean it, Gallagher. The longer we spend in there the more we cut into quality napping time.” 

“Sir, yes sir!” Ian salutes mockingly and grabs into Mickey’s wrist, pulling his husband back down onto his chest for a few more stolen kisses, unable to convince himself that he should give a fuck about the stickiness of Mickey’s front. 

Of course Mickey protests  _ loudly _ , barking out insults and orders and complaints. All of them meaningless, all of them hollow.

And Ian can’t resist smiling blissfully though all of it, and thinking,  _ as long as the world keeps spinning _ . 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ;) Kudos and comments make my day, and motivate me to write! <3


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